Galaxy of Possibilities

NotActuallyBatman

New member
<< We shall now announce the graduates of this year's Medical Excellence Program... >>

It wasn't that Gin'bilu'alelu, soon-to-be graduate of Csilla's most prestigious medical academy, didn't want to be a doctor. There was value in helping people. Rather, it was that Gin'bilu'alelu, soon-to-be graduate of Csilla's most prestigious medical academy, didn't want to help his people. Half-watching from the vid screen as his eyes kept looking to the stolen ship's gauges for signs of imminent disaster, he saw his classmates march lock-step in single file to receive their awards. It had been like this with every ceremony he had ever attended; his parents' promotional ceremonies, the graduations of friends, all the same. Unchanging. Unfeeling. If even one of the newly-minted doctors had died right there on the spot, Gin'bilu'alelu had every confidence that their fellow doctors would simply step right over them rather than break ranks. It had been like that ever since he was a boy. And it showed absolutely no signs of stopping now.

This was life in the Chiss Ascendancy. Regardless of your feelings, regardless of your future, you take your role and you follow your orders. The galaxy of possibilities was incredibly dark for a Chiss, with only a few guiding stars they were allowed to follow.

One of the gauges immediately flashed red, and the hastily-repaired vessel that had been liberated from the breaker yards listed hard to port. Grabbing the yoke, Gin'bilu'alelu had initially thought to pull hard to starboard. But there was energy going to port. Energy he could use instead of risking further damage. After taking a second to right himself and double-check his mental math, the young Chiss instead pushed into the turn, pulling up slightly. As the vessel inverted, Gin'bilu'alelu released a small sigh of relief; even if the stabilizer was shot, the vessel's artificial gravity held strong, and the Chiss barely felt the tug of natural gravity as he gently rolled the ship and righted its orientation. The Chiss had half a mind to thank the first "Corellian" he saw in the wider galaxy; even after being stripped down bolt by bolt and put back together in single-digit hours by one man desperate to flee his own personal hell, this "YT-2400" flew like a dream. Of course, having never flown before, a dream was all that Gin'bilu'alelu could compare it to. But the controls were surprisingly intuitive. They had better be, after all; Gin'bilu'alelu's father put his son to work breaking this specific ship down and analyzing its every component as part of his repeated juvenile detentions, and at this point the Chiss was convinced he knew the ship better than he knew the man who put him to work on it.

<< And to bring an end to our ceremony our parting words will be provided by - graduating with distinguished honors, - Doctor Gin'bilu'alelu... >>

The words of the proctor rang louder than the beeping of the alarm as the primary buffer panel was ripped off of the fuselage by the surging winds of Csilla's upper atmosphere, and blue fingers that had been about to throw the hyperdrive levers forward now danced tentatively on their metal balls. Honors? Distinguished honors? The Chiss was taken aback. He knew he had done well; even absent his parents' suffocating influence, he had never been one to use half-measures. But distinguished honors? As the skies parted and gave way to the darkness of space, Doctor Gin'bilu'alelu was hit by its silence as well as his own. It was rare that he was at a loss for words. After almost a decade of dedicated study and training, he had not only accomplished the goal his society had set out for him, but had done so better than anyone else in his class. Surely that had to mean something, right?

<< Doctor Gin'bilu'alelu... >>

He wanted to stop holding on the yoke and let the port list begin his descent back home. To literally crash the ceremony, hop out of the Corellian ship's burning bridge, and smile at the proctor as he received his award. To go back to a cold and unfeeling society and play his role and do his part like a good little Ascendancy boy, content with the knowledge that the delinquent did it better than the rest of them (to say nothing of the mental image of their silent, seething consternation bringing a half-smile to the Chiss's lips). Looking away from the vid screen just as the unmistakable silhouettes of his parents stood up from near the stage and left, for a moment the galaxy of possibilities seemed to have no stars to follow at all. He'd never make it back in time. He'd likely have an arrest warrant by the time he touched back down. He'd never make good on that potential, not now.

The thought of silent, seething consternation stopped being funny; all any Chiss would see of Gin'bilu'alelu now was that he'd had it all and readily squandered it, going for a joyride in a barely-spaceworthy ship from a savage civilization.

<< Doctor Gin. Bilu. Alelu! >>

A grimace. A forceful exhale. An opening of red eyes. And as he summoned what courage he had left, Gin'bilu'alelu responded with a voice nobody in that assembly hall could hear.

"You want me? Come and get me."

His fingers clamped down. His arm surged forward. His breath and heart stopped as something deep within the ship awakened, roaring to life.

And the galaxy of possibilities became positively blinding.
 

NotActuallyBatman

New member
One month. One month was all it took for Gin'bilu'alelu to realize that whatever his future might have held in this vast galaxy, bantha herding was not on the list.

Now conditioned to waking up before the rising of this backwater desert world's twin suns, the fugitive Chiss rose from his small mat in the rancher's spare room and got himself dressed before the now-traditional breakfast of jerky and water. Stepping into the still-brisk morning air, Gin'bilu'alelu and turned east, waiting for the suns to rise. It would be a hard day, as they always were; feed the banthas, groom the banthas, tidy the banthas' pen (and try not to pass out from the stench in the process), and then do the same as the suns began to lower. In between, it was equipment maintenance, and the Chiss's hard-won skills in the Csilla shipbreaking yard had surprising utility on a bantha ranch some two kilometers east of the already-remote Mos Taike. And every so often, there would be an injury that needed treating, be it from a wandering scyk pack or regular carelessness. For a planet farthest from the bright center of the universe, Gin'bilu'alelu was getting a remarkable return on his educational investments.

But at the current pace, it would take several months to replace the necessary components and get his ship off the ground again. Gin'bilu'alelu had no complaints about his boss; the farmer made a point to pay him fairly and charged only a pittance for room and board when he could have easily extorted the wanderer from the Unknown Regions. He was content with his lot in life, fully aware that it would be spent on a desert world and fully at peace with the fact that the wider galaxy may as well not exist. And much as Gin'bilu'alelu wished he could say the same, he had not thrown away a promising medical career on Csilla - much as he knew he would have hated it - to sling bantha fodder.

He needed more credits. He needed them quickly. And he needed off of Tatooine before the near-constant sunburns turned him some horrific shade of purple. The galaxy of possibilities was getting further and further away from him with each passing day, and he would not be content with that.

"Bill!" came a call from inside the small sandstone structure, "I'm getting the caf on, you want any?"

The Chiss sighed in relief as he heard the Huttese words carry through the crisp morning air. Considered the trade language of the galaxy, Gin'bilu'alelu - or 'Bill', as he'd told the farmer to call him - had made a point to learn it. While markedly different from Cheunh in every way, it had a consistency to it that other languages like Basic lacked. The farmer had taken it on himself to teach Bill the galaxy's other common tongue to middling success. And it was mutually understood that the pre-sunrise pre-caf hour was not the time to try and teach, let alone learn.

"Yeah," Bill replied, his eyes still on the sky, "thanks."

After a short moment, Bill turned to make his way back to the farmer's house. It promised to be a hard day, as they all were, and it was not to be faced without caf.
 
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